Business As Usual
by Angelscribe
Summary: Cordelia and Doyle have a lot on their plate just trying to deal with the aftermath of Buffy’s visit and its effect on Angel. Unfortunately, the PTB aren’t going to cut them any slack either - it’s business as usual for Angel Investigations …
1. 1

**Disclaimer:** All characters are the property of Joss Whedon – I just like playing with them.

**Notes: **Set during season 1, before **Hero** but after **I Will Remember You**. Cordelia and Doyle have a lot on their plate just trying to deal with the aftermath of Buffy's visit and its effect on Angel. Unfortunately, the PTB aren't going to cut them any slack either - it's business as usual for Angel Investigations …

* * *

**Business As Usual**

Another day, another dollar …

"Fabulous, Doyle – remind me of the pittance Mr. Still-Pays-Seventeenth-Century-Wages bestows on us in return for your average twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, service of demon slaying, researching … and did I even mention the added ick factor?"

Had he said that aloud? He really should know by now that was a touchy subject at best and certainly not a sentiment to be voiced in public.

"An' a good mornin' to you an' all, Princess." he said easily, brushing aside the little rant from his co-worker and ambling across the office to drop into a chair across from her, swinging his legs up onto the corner of her desk. "Anyway, sufferin' for the greater good – think o' the karma …" he tried, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes – he knew it was a long shot …

Sure enough, a snort of disbelieving laughter met his suggestion and the attractive brunette glanced up from the weighty tome she had been staring blankly at just long enough to roll her eyes in theatrical disgust.

"Karma doesn't pay the rent, does it? Or does it buy decent clothes?" she demanded before breaking off to cast a critical eye over him, taking in the somewhat faded t-shirt he was wearing underneath a baggy dark green shirt and beat up brown leather jacket. "And why am I even asking _you_?"

"Yer a real ray o' sunshine this mornin', darlin'." he said, unfazed but slightly bemused by her attitude. "Any particular reason yer so full o' the joys?"

"What? It's bad enough we have to battle evil at the most _ungodly_ of hours, but now you're expecting me to be cheerful about it too?" she snapped, instantly putting on a blatantly fake and over-the-top smile. "Happy now?" she demanded, even though the smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared as she went back to glowering at her book.

Doyle said nothing, but merely watched her for a second with a concerned frown. Like everyone else who had ever known her, he was used to Cordelia's little outbursts – found them endearing even, but that was probably just him. Something told him this went deeper though – there was something definitely bothering her and he intended to find out what it was.

"Would you quit staring at me already – you look like a monkey with a Rubik's cube!"

"Alright, yer comin' wi' me …" Doyle informed her in his best not-taking-no-for-an-answer voice, swiping the book from under her nose and closing it with no regard for keeping her place. An action which drew a sharp intake of breath and that glare, the one that could kill at twenty paces. "Whoops …"

"Angel said he needed …"

"Angel's too busy mopin' in the batcave to need anythin' but a swift kick up the arse." Doyle grinned, "I'M in charge for now and I say we get the staff cheered up and then we worry about himself – is that a plan or what?"

"If this so-called _plan_ involves getting wasted at …" She glanced at her watch, "… Ten thirty a.m. – you are _so_ barking up the wrong tree …"

"Plan B it is then – get yer bag."

* * *

"As plans go … I've seen worse." Cordelia admitted, managing a little smile for the Irishman sprawled on the grass beside her, minus his jacket – a tribute to either the heat or the fact that she was now sitting on it to spare her denim skirt from grass stains, probably both.

"Hey, I figured just 'cos the boss sticks to the shadows, no reason we shouldn't indulge in a wee spot o' sunshine for a change." Doyle grinned, shading his eyes with one hand as he looked up at her.

"Yeah, 'cos if we were to follow our fearless leader's example, we'd probably be vitamin deficient and, no offence to Angel, but the pale and interesting look? So over. Plus, no way am I switching my mochachinos for "O"-neg!" she smiled, gesturing to her take-away coffee. "Nor do I intend to spend the greater part of the day moping about with a face like a wet weekend." She added as an afterthought, her smile fading. "Pathetic, much?"

"Ah, c'mon, cut the guy some slack, Cordy – ya know how things are wi' him and Buffy …"

"Do I ever! And so does he, so he should know better than keep torturing himself like this – what good is brooding gonna do, huh?" she demanded, though the question was obviously rhetorical as she didn't even pause for an answer. "You do see where this is going, don't you? If he doesn't snap out of it, you and me? Propping up the counter at the unemployment place! And I dunno about you, but 'has a freakish knowledge of the many ways to dispose of demon spawn' is so not gonna do my resumé any favours."

"Err, d'ya wanna maybe dial it down a notch?" Doyle said, sparing a thought for the other people around them for whom the undead were not such a common feature of everyday life and raising his eyebrows. "What's got ya so riled anyways? This'll all blow over in a few and then we don't gotta worry …

"Few what? Months? Years? _Millennia_? May I remind you who we're talking about here? Angel? He of the permanent angst? And when I say permanent, it's been ongoing since … oh, lets hazard a guess at _centuries ago_! Brooding is not something he takes lightly, he's got it down to an art form – it's a way of life … unlife … whatever."

"It ain't like he's doin' it for the hell o' it! If anyone's got cause, it's our boy, Angel …"

"I _know_ he's had it rough, but …"

"No buts, princess – all we can do is give him time." Doyle said firmly.

"So you want to go into avoidance tactics? Ignore the problem and hope it sorts itself? That'll work! Buffy blows into town, puts Angel into a permanent funk as only _she_ can and I'm just supposed to stand by and turn a blind eye while our business goes belly up?" Her little rant was followed by a frustrated sigh, her fingers which had been absently running over the grass now inadvertently uprooting handfuls.

With a sigh of his own, Doyle sat up and scooted a little closer to the irate brunette, hoping he wasn't just putting himself in front of the one-woman firing squad.

"Cor, darlin', there's some things we just can't help Angel wi', hard as it may be. It ain't turnin' a blind eye, it's givin' him space to work through it …"

"Work! He hasn't worked in days and don't say he's delegating – he's just finding ways to keep us busy so we'll let him waste his unlife! That 'important research' – and I use sarcastic air quotes – he had me doing this morning? Big waste of time – background info on an old case and so unnecessary it's not even funny." Cordelia groused. "He doesn't pay enough to have us doing crappy time wasting stuff!"

"So ya actually _want_ business to be boomin'? I'd have thought you'd be jumpin' at the chance to jack this all in for somethin' a tad more glamorous …"

"Of course, my inevitable stardom will come …" Cordelia nodded, "It just … doesn't look like happening in the immediate future. And I have bills – if I have to work, I'd rather do it for a successful firm than … well, us."

"We'll get by, princess – we always do." Doyle said softly, patting her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

"You really think so?" she asked and the Irishman was suddenly struck by just how young and vulnerable she looked – it was easy to forget when she was her usual bright and breezy self. "I mean, I know it's hard to believe this about a soon to be famous Hollywood actress, but …" she looked down to avoid his eyes and played distractedly with a leather bracelet around her wrist, "Well, I haven't exactly got a lot of friends in L.A. – and if Angel takes off, that's a fifty percent cut … It may not be the career move I'd intended, but I _need_ this and we haven't had a paying client in ages and you haven't exactly been forthcoming with the visions …"

"You wishin' mind-numbin' pain on me now?"

"Think of the karma, you said." she pointed out with a wry smile.

"Touché." he grinned back before bumping her shoulder companionably with his, "We will be alright though, darlin' – you and me, we'll stick together … And Angel will come round. Eventually. Sorry I can't do much on the vision front though – in case ya hadn't noticed, I ain't exactly in control o' … oh, shite …"

Cordelia gasped in alarm as his eyes first widened in shock and then scrunched closed in pain as he collapsed on the grass, holding his head and trying not to cry out and draw any more attention than he already had.

"Bee sting." Cordelia loudly informed anyone who glanced their way with a nervous, strained laugh. "Honestly, _men_! They make a fuss over the least little thing …"

Having to settle for helplessly hovering over Doyle, her hand gripping his shoulder, Cordelia tried her best to comfort him until the worst of his ordeal was over and his body finally relaxed on the grass.

"Oh, Jesus …" he groaned miserably, one arm thrown over his eyes. "I swear to God, there's gotta be a union we can join – and if there ain't, we'll start one!"

"You're preaching to the choir!" Cordy declared, "Are you okay?"

"If by okay you mean in agony, I'm comin' up roses, darlin'." he sighed, "Don't suppose ya got any painkillers on ya? Or maybe morphine?"

"Aspirin?" she offered, digging in her bag and waiting until he had taken four and downed them with the lukewarm dredges of his coffee before asking the all important question, "So, more trouble ahead?"

"Aye, looks like it's business as usual …" he nodded wearily, "Lets go."

* * *


	2. 2

**Notes:** Just wanted to say a big thank you to those who reviewed - it's always great to get feedback on what's going right/wrong!

* * *

As the sun hastened in its nightly ritual of climbing down through the sky over the city, the dark underbelly of Los Angeles stirred and prepared to awaken yet again. Not that it ever truly slept, but after nightfall – that was when the real fun started for the less human amongst the city dwellers. And, deny it as they might, everyone knew it. They might tell themselves and each other that the crime rate, the numerous muggings, stabbings and other pitfalls of living in an ever-growing city, that they were the reason for their wariness when it came to venturing out of an evening, but that wasn't the truth. Or not the whole truth anyway. 

It turned out that the people of L.A. weren't really so different to the folks back in Sunnydale – they were just as good at telling themselves monsters don't exist, while all the time covering up the facts staring them in the face. Puncture wounds in the neck? Obviously just some kind of weapon the attacker was carrying. People who disappear? Happens all the time – sad but true and it's not as if there could be some strange other dimension they were sucked into. Attackers who look like really good walking adverts for plastic surgery? Hey, not everyone can be perfect, even in Hollywood …

Deny, deny, deny.

But there are some who can't escape the nightmare of reality as it truly is, who can't just see what they want to see. And they either let it beat them, make a stand, or run. But no one can run forever …

* * *

"Hey, blondie! Get your ass over here – you think we got all night?" 

The girl at whom the impatient shout had been directed straightened up with a weary sigh, took a deep breath and spun on her heel with her eyes blazing angrily. "Yell at me like that again and you'll have all night alright – all night to find your boss someone else!" she snapped, but her reaction only drew hoots of laughter.

"Woah, looks like the little kitten's got claws! What d'ya reckon to that, Tony?"

Tony, a great hulk of a man with long brown hair and a beard to match, rose from his crouching position and drew himself up to his full height, somewhere in the region of six and a half feet.

"I think she should watch who she pulls 'em on, Mac." he growled in a deep voice as he stared down at the petite girl.

Her clear green eyes narrowed and she didn't even stop to think as she marched up to him defiantly and planted herself before him, hands on her hips.

"You think that scares me?" she asked, her voice low and as threatening as it was ever likely to be. "You think some cretin who just happened to fall off of the evolution chart bothers me? I've seen worse than _you_, so you can try the intimidation all you like – it ain't gonna work. You getting this or should I speak slower?"

The giant before her raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched as if under threat of a smile before he doubled over with a great bellow of laughter.

"Little girl, you are just the funniest thing I ever did see!" he managed between chuckles, reaching out to pat her on the shoulder and nearly sending her stumbling as he forgot his own strength. "You keep that up, kiddo, and don't let nobody push you around!"

Startled and yet vaguely relieved by the unexpected outcome to this stand-off, the girl pushed black and blonde streaked hair back from her face and allowed herself to relax a little as a smile tugged at her own lips.

"Alright then, if we've got all that outta the way, are you gonna get that mike set up or what?" she demanded with a grin, turning back to her guitar case as the sound crew of the club she was in finally got back to work.

* * *

"How's the head?" 

"Been better – that one really lingered." Doyle grimaced, "But cheers for askin', Cordy, nice to know ya care …"

"What I care about is when you're gonna actually help me instead of sitting on your backside." Cordelia said sweetly from where she sat behind her desk.

"And what would you be sittin' on then?" Doyle retorted defensively.

"Hello - _working_! Unlike some who shall remain nameless and only be known as the badly dressed drunk and the slightly better dressed sulker …"

"Talk about givin' a dog a bad name and hangin' him!"

"Don't put ideas in my head!" Cordelia warned, "Right, go over what you saw in your vision again – maybe we're missing something. Oh, and totally feel free to leave out the gruesome sacrificing this time – I only held onto my lunch last time by sheer willpower! That and the fact that we really can't afford to be wasting good food …"

Doyle sighed and leaned back, tilting his chair onto two legs and closing his eyes to try to block everything out except the images which had earlier assaulted his mind.

"Bright flashes o' light, loads o' people, somethin' red … a car … a neon sign …" he paused, his face screwed up as if he was trying to get a better view of something, except for his eyes being closed. "That sign – it's a bar, but I can't make out the name … I can see it, but I can't _see_ it …"

"Could you be any _less_ helpful? Think, Doyle – anything that might give us a clue … A name … Or how 'bout the car – make, number, colour even?"

"I'm tryin' here … Uh, the car – black wi' blacked out windows …"

"In L.A.? Hate to rain on your parade, buddy, but if you'd seen anything of how the other half lives, you'd know that could be almost anyone worth anything in this city. Hey, maybe we're going to be helping someone rich and famous – wow, I'm thinking 'reward'. It would be bad PR to _charge_, per se …"

"God, now I know there's somethin' wrong when yer talkin' about not chargin'!" Doyle muttered, before focusing his attention on their case – or what little they knew of it at least. "At least we've got some time, I think – I get the feelin' the sacrifice I saw ain't due for a couple of days, but considerin' we know jack about what's goin' on …"

"We have to really shift. You think we should try talking to Angel again?" Cordelia asked hesitantly.

"His mind ain't on the job though …" Doyle mused, "But I suppose I could try talkin' to him again – I was thinkin' o' takin' the car out for a scoot round, see if maybe somethin' looked familiar … I could try to get Angel onboard?"

"A pub crawl? That's your answer?"

"All in the line o' duty, darlin'; all in the line o' duty." he just grinned.

Cordelia shook her head disapprovingly, but for once said nothing – it wasn't as if she had any better ideas and anything that got Angel out of his room had to be worth a shot. She watched as the Irishman climbed to his feet and headed for the lift to take him down to Angel's private quarters beneath the office and then turned back to the computer for a second. But it was only for a second as she shrugged her shoulders helplessly and closed down the internet window she had open. Somehow, she didn't think they were going to find their answers on Google. Not with the vague hints that were all they had to go on - a gory ritual sacrifice and a few hazy images of who, where and when that they could neither make head nor tail of. She'd have to wait for Doyle to figure out more about what he had seen before she could hope to help in any way …

With that in mind, she was able to pick up a discarded glossy magazine with a clear conscience and leaf absently through the pages. Confronted with visions of celebrities and stardom, she was lost to her daydreams of achieving such fame and fortune herself and could just imagine how it would feel. No more getting covered in demon slime, staking vamps and nearly getting killed on a regular basis – of course she was beginning to realise that she would miss Angel and even Doyle, in spite of how she may act in front of them. And a little part of her would miss the rush she got when they were successful with a case … But the thought of trading that in for life amongst the beautiful people – it was a nice way to exercise her imagination.

To have hundreds of adoring fans chanting her name; crowds of photographers jostling to take her picture as she emerged, radiant, from a stretch limo; to waltz down the red carpet looking like the epitome of glamour …

Suddenly, Cordelia snapped to attention and she grabbed the notebook in which she had jotted down the scant details of Doyle's latest visions. She quickly ran her eye down the series of hastily scribbled bulletpoints – it had been right in front of her the whole time. Bright lights, fancy car, red as in _carpet_ perhaps … It might be a long shot, but it was all they had and anyway, pass up a chance at first-hand experience of the glitzy world of showbiz? As _if_!

* * *

to be continued... 


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